


how hard can you punch?

by ToothyApocalypse



Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst galore, Chuck was hit in the head way too many times for this fic, Disturbing scenes, F/M, Grief, I PROMISE THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING, M/M, Manipulation, Mindfuck, Multi, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated each chapter, The Burners are already dating so expect cuddles, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToothyApocalypse/pseuds/ToothyApocalypse
Summary: Mutt Dogs has been a lot quieter the past three months, and Chuck doesn't think it'll ever be the same. Whatever the Burners had is long gone and the struggle to keep going—to keep fighting—is getting increasingly more real, and painfully so. The Burners may still have four people to love, but the voice that brought them together is long gone.Chuck strictly believes that Mike's not dead until he sees the body, but there's no way he could have survived...right?
Relationships: Mike Chilton/Chuck, Mike Chilton/Chuck/Dutch/Julie Kane/Texas
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	1. Context

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing for the past two months, I'm finally ready. I've already begun writing chapter two as well! I can't wait to start writing for this community. <3

The soft buzz of the movie's main title instrumentals is the first thing Chuck is able to comprehend as he wakes up. He makes a gentle groan and nuzzles his face into the soft cushioning below him, arms wrapping around the pillow. Except, he realizes quite quickly, it very much is not a pillow. (He doesn't think? He pauses to check and yea—no, that's definitely not a pillow.) Instead, he registers, his head is on Texas's sleeping chest, and there's an additional ball of warmth against his legs.

Chuck's head shoots up, surprised, and looks around the lounge. Julie is curled up on the arm of the couch at his feet, fast asleep, and Chuck spots Dutch snoring softly against Texas on his other side. _Oh,_ he relaxes, _that's right._ He fell asleep on the couch during a movie with Texas, Julie, Dutch, and Mike—.

Except Mike is nowhere to be seen.

The realization sets a deep pool of dread into his stomach, and Chuck starts shaking his head to throw any follow-up thoughts out of his mind. He lays back down and huffs, eyes squeezing shut as his little inner voices start trying to tear into him. The next however long is spent focusing on breathing and praying Texas can't feel Chuck's pounding heartbeat with the way his whole body is anxiously throbbing. It takes a long while, but eventually, Chuck wears it out, and he's drifting back to sleep...

* * *

Julie has her forehead in her hands like she's holding onto a headache, elbows on the counter. She's standing in the kitchen, rubbing her temples while Dutch and Chuck sit at the booth on the other side of the counter. Dutch is rubbing the side of his index finger with his thumb, trying to puzzle what to say next. Chuck, on the other hand, squares his shoulder. He isn't ready to relent just yet.

"He's not dead. We can't just stop looking," Chuck continues doggedly, voice shaky and too weak to carry much force after using it the past twenty minutes. He's itching to pull out his screens by now, but with the look Julie gives him when she looks up, he's not going to be able to do that until everything is settled.

"How can you say that?" Julie snaps, throwing her hands off her face and into the air. "You were right there!" 

"Guys—."

"We didn't see him hit the river!" Chuck's voice cracks, high pitch and a bit more shrill than he's comfortable with. Beside Chuck, Dutch has gone tense and resorted to warming his hands awkwardly between his thighs.

"It doesn't matter that we didn't see it happen, there was nothing to find—he never came up and it was a mile _fucking_ down!" Julie starts to shout, desperate and emotional. Her eyes have started to water.

"A human can survive that! Hell, people have survived falling twenty thousand feet! A mile is just five thousand—and we didn't have time to look!"

"No one can go swimming around in toxic waste like it's no big deal! Of course we couldn't look!"

"He's going to come back soon," Chuck tries, drawing his shoulders in, "I promi—."

Julie slams her hands on the table and Chuck full body flinches, eyes going wide. "It's been three months!" She shouts, and every inch of her deadly expression screams Abraham Kane. Chuck's throat tightens, frozen. "Why can't you just give it up? He's gone, Chuck. He de—!"

_"Stop!"_

Chuck and Julie both jump at the snap, whirling around in their shock to look at Dutch. 

Dutch's eyes are set in his lap, shoulders hunched in. "Just...stop, guys," he mutters and stands up, pushing the stool out from under him, "it's over." Chuck feels the rock in his chest get heavier as he watches Dutch walk out of the room. Julie just shakes her head and turns, walking out to the garage. The sound of Nine Lives's engine fills the hideout before Julie zooms away, leaving Chuck alone with the sounds of an idle home. Even in the middle of his designated time for "an awesome morning workout" on the other side of Mutt Dogs, Texas's muay thai shouts have gone quiet.

After ten minutes of sitting in silence, Chuck relents to the itch in his finger and opens up a screen. The green light illuminates his face a little too enthusiastically, and he's squinting behind his bangs to look for his notifications.

A little white '6' shivers above his inbox, trying to catch his attention.

Chuck stares at the notification for a long while, until he finally wills himself to press his inbox. The earliest message was sent a week ago, much to Chuck's muted surprise. Has it really been that long since he's checked his texts? The first two text messages are from Dutch—probably asking if they can hang out, even though they literally live in the same house and he can just come and knock on Chuck's door—, more texts are from Texas, talking about only he really knows what, and there's another text from Julie. The last notification is a video message from Ruby.

Chuck taps on the video, albeit a tad numbly, and there are two faces changing the color of his screen.

Ruby starts with a big smile. _"Greetings, Lord Vanquisher—!"_

_"Chuck! You aren't going to believe what happened today!"_

_"Thurman!"_

Ruby pushes at Thurman's shoulder in a scold, but he trucks on to tell his story, clearly enthused. _"Sarah completely WRECKED the Bardonian forces today! I couldn't believe it! She was missing a whole arm and she just kept going! She was conjuring soldiers of the dead and—,"_ he freezes _, "oh my god I'm in love—."_

_"ANYWAYS!"_ Ruby says loudly and pushes Thurman out of view, rolling her eyes. She's still unable to stop herself from grinning. _"What he's trying to say is the kingdom is being well cared for. Sarah continues to keep everyone safe from that Bardonian scum. The wandering River Bards are hosting a city-wide festival soon in honor of a new dragonslayer—."_

_"Some kid named Ronaldo—,"_ Thurman adds as he rejoins Ruby.

_"—and so far that's the only really major things that have been happening since Queen Sarah's rise to power."_ Her face falters and she spares a glance at Thurman, who visibly grits his teeth and looks off to the side, like something caught his attention. Chuck knows he's faking it, but Ruby offers the camera a pursed smile instead of saying anything. _"Everyone is wondering when our Lord Vanquisher will be back to reclaim the throne, though."_

Chuck immediately pauses the video and wipes at the burn in his eyes, holding his breath for a few moments. He finally lets it out and focuses on box breathing for a good minute before letting himself press play again.

_"We miss you, dude,"_ Thurman says beside her. _"Check in with us sometime, okay?"_ Chuck begins to register how worried they both look. Despite her smile, Ruby's brow is beginning to have that pinch and she has the look in her eyes that means 'I know something but won't say it'. On the other hand, Thurman looks tired. Behind his glasses, he has faint traces of bags under his eyes. It isn't uncommon for him to stay up until the ungodly hours of the morning, but it's never shown.

With a second beat of silence, Ruby looks at Thurman, and Chuck understands it as asking if he wants to say anything else. Thurman shakes his head, and they both turn back to the camera and put on their best smiles. Ruby closes it off. _"Stay safe, Lord Vanquisher. We hope to see our liege soon."_

The video ends a lot quieter than it started, and Chuck closes his screen.

The silence gets painful after another ten minutes. (Or maybe it's been thirty? Time hasn't been the most pressing thing on Chuck's mind recently.) Chuck stops staring at the empty space of counter and pushes himself out of the barstool. The destination in mind? His room, hopefully to do something worthwhile. He can start planning their next move from the comfort of his bed—or at least decide what productive things he's going to do for the week (and hopefully actually accomplish, rather than sleeping all day). He might decide to get some cleaning done. Mike would hate it if he comes back to a dusty house, and Chuck isn't keen on immediately driving Mike crazy when he gets home. Maybe he'll do some much needed maintenance on Mutt after she's been lonely in the garage for the last three months. He could ask Dutch to freshen up her paint job on top of that. Mike would be thrilled.

Chuck walks out of the kitchen, past the lounge, and into the hallway, vaguely wondering what time it is while continuing down his list of possibilities.

"Skinny?"

Chuck's entire body pulls in on itself, freezing.

Only with a great amount of force of will did Chuck look over at Texas standing in the doorway beside him. The other Burner is bare-chested and in one of his pairs of baggy sweatpants that cuff around the ankle, a thick glaze of sweat across his skin. He's kneading a small towel between his wrapped fingers and knuckles, looking down at it. Chuck furrows his brow and resists tilting his head. _Is he nervous?_

Texas stops rubbing at the cloth, settling to simply hold it between his fingers. "Hey, so, Texas was wondering," he begins, and despite how softly he's talking, Chuck already wants to start running the other direction— "if you'd want takeout.

Chuck's brain understands what's being asked a beat late. "What?"

"Well, Dutch is off paintin' in his room," Texas continues with a little more gusto after Chuck's reply, letting go of the towel with one hand to emote, "Janice is probably going back up to Deluxe to do her super cool spy stuff. So, you're, like, the only one Texas can be an awesome boyfriend to 'n stuff, so I was wonderin' if you'd want me to buy you takeout."

That little bit of the uneasy tension coiling between Chuck's shoulderblades slips away as he processes Texas's offer. Chuck purses his lips, pulling his hands up together to rub his fingers together thoughtfully. "Yea..." he finally nods, and even though Texas's smile lights up, it doesn't seem as bright as it normally is. "Please."

"Awesome," Texas says, keeping his voice low in the silence of the hallway, and Chuck can't help but smile at the little gesture. Of course, Texas still claps a hand on Chuck's back and ignores the squeak Chuck makes. "Daddy Texas will get you some good food. 'Cause like, chaw, Texas knows all the best places, 'cause he's awesome and stuff." Chuck's smile wobbles as he's let go, and Texas turns to practically prance back to his room. "Plus you need ta eat and Texas has to make sure you're not starving because of your super-hungry-cyborg-Chuck side. I'm gonna shower then head out!" Texas disappears into his room a few doors down, but pops his head out last minute. "Love you!"

The hallway is quiet after Texas pulls his head back into his room and closes the door. Chuck stares after him for a minute, wondering whether what had just happened was real or just a dream.

He pinches himself. 

Nope, he's awake; Texas is just being generous today. (Texas has always been generous... It's just been awhile since he could be with all the chaos happening.) It gives Chuck a faint fluttery feeling around the boulder still sitting in his chest, but it's still nice all the same.

It takes three more paces of his long legs until Chuck has a hand on the doorknob to his own room. He twists the knob and stops short when he opens the door, taking in the mess around his room and casually wondering what percentage of his floor is actually visible. He shuts the door behind him and navigates over the mess of clothes and random tools, pricking his foot on something sharp with a hiss. Chuck takes one last big step to reach the safety of his bed and pulls his long legs up to his chest, looking back down at the floor to see what pricked him. Nothing looks sharp from where he's sitting. 

The responsible side of Chuck's brain nudges for him to clean up the mess. The other side tells him to sleep. 

Squinting, Chuck opens a screen to look at the time. A big twenty hundred blares to life on his screen and his chest is immediately tightening with an upset squeeze. He waves a hand to put out the glitching screen, closing his eyes and taking a few calm breaths in and out. When the tugs start to fade away, Chuck lays down and pulls his comforter over his head, holding his hands close to his chest. _It's just a clock,_ he reminds himself as calmly as he can. In the darkness of the blankets, everything could finally be peaceful. Chuck focuses on the little sounds around his room, doggedly keeping away from his thoughts.

It takes a minute or two until the warmth of his cocoon starts to grow suffocating. He pulls the side of his comforter in to make a small hole and hugs the fluff so it keeps its shape, but otherwise doesn't move out of the comfort of his awkward pill bug ball.

Chuck closes his eyes with a deep breath, and prays that—by some form of good old luck and hope—he's able to sleep.

* * *

_"Chuck!"_

The voice sounds like it's coming from a couple rooms away, and with Chuck's head spinning like a top, it's not exactly helping him pinpoint who's shouting for him. He begins to start connecting dots when a strong hand pulls Chuck, limp as a ragdoll, into a sitting position

"Chuck! Get up!" Oh, wait, he knows that voice.

"Mikey? Wha?..." Chuck blinks hard and tries to focus on the face of the familiar voice. When everything goes from 'blurry as fuck' to 'managable blurry', he sees Mike five times over.

_Woo, lots of Mike's,_ a happy part of his brain thinks—with a little too much "KaneCo crush" for Chuck's liking.

Everything that's going on around them in the orange and red glow breaks through his daze all at once, and he's back in the Terra's contaminated mushroom canopy at least a mile above solid ground. He hears Terras whoop and holler as they jump along branches and swing across vines over the gigantic mushroom tops, avoiding the deadly drop into the rivers of toxic waste below. Julie is taking out Terras one-by-one alongside her holograms on a shroom cap nearby, and Dutch is managing to survive with his omnitool below Chuck and Mike's cap. Texas is hooting out his favorite battlecry (which will probably change in about five minutes) and sending Terras flying with a flurry of kicks and punches, going just about everywhere he can get to. Mike is still crouched down in front of Chuck, holding him up, but his eyes are darting around the chaos, and the danger dawns on Chuck a beat late.

"Oh _shit!"_ And, just like that, Chuck is racing to push himself to his feet, one hand on his throbbing head.

Mike grabs Chuck's sleeve with the hand free of his spark staff and hauls the programmer back to his feet, looking him up and down as presently as possible while making sure the Terras aren't about to ambush them. "You good, dude?"

"Yea, I have a bit of a headache but— _Mikey look out!"_ Chuck shrieks, but Mike was already turning around. He punches the Terra (who happened to be, unfortunately, right within arms length) straight in the face with nasty crack. They fall backward onto the ground, blood streaming from their nose and knocked out cold. Mike huffs and shakes out his fist, popping a finger or two. Must have been an awkward punch. Chuck catches his breath after nearly being startled into a panic attack, "How many are left?"

"Wish I knew," Mike sighs. "Two come back for every one down. They just keep showing up!" 

Chuck has a few questions to follow that up, squinting behind his bangs, but Mike is already on the move before he has a chance to ask. He shrugs and follows Mike while the leader jumps to pull himself up onto another mushroom cap, before turning and helping Chuck up too. When they stand up, two Terras look at them from across the cap where they were talking, plant crossbows latching vines around their forearms.

Mike just smiles and waves while the Terras turn and point their crossbows at them. "Hey! You guys should really watch your heads." The Terra on the left goes as far as to tilt their head and give Mike a very confused look. Mike points up. They immediately get the message and look up in unison just as Texas steps off from his shroom and attacks the Terras from above. He gives them each a sharp kick to their heads, letting out a loud "hwacha!", and continues to crash down onto the Terras with the grace of a downed Kanebot. They all fall into a heavy heap of limbs on the dirt, grunts and all.

Mike clutches his stomach to laugh while Texas hops off the pile almost as quickly as he fell, brow knit seriously. "I meant to do that!" Texas says, trying to reclaim his dignity. Chuck can't help but facepalm.

"Nice one, Tex!" Mike hoots, prancing over to Texas and clapping him on the back. "Go help Dutch and Jules. We got it up here." 

"Yup!" Texas nods and races to the edge of the shroom cap, giving Chuck a wink on the way down. Chuck sputters at him, severely confused and wondering what the hell that means for him later, when Mike and Chuck look up at a twig snap.

Seven Terras are watching the two like vultures in the branches and vines above, glaring. There's a faint noise in the air and—are they _growling?_

One of the seven whoops and jumps down next to Mike, brandishing a wicked-looking knife. Another one lands beside Chuck and immediately throws a punch at him. Chuck yelps and ducks out of the way, looking up, and he automatically hates everything about the Terra he's going against. Chuck's a tall guy, but the Terra swinging at him is somehow taller than Dutch and way broader. 

The Terras above cheer and root on their companions like it's some kind of tournament. Chuck is trying to get some distance to use the slingshot that has started constructing itself on his forearm, but the hulking Terra against him knows enough to stay up close and personal to hold the advantage. The Terra keeps Chuck on his toes, and Chuck continues being barely able to pull off last minute dodges that Mike is so good at. Chuck's breathing hard after a solid minute of jumping around, backing away from sharp jabs and punches, until one finally hooks him under his diaphragm. His entire body shudders and tenses on itself, and a second punch connects with his jaw so hard his head snaps to the side. No other hits come after it.

Chuck stumbles away, wheezing on a breath he can't quite get, and raises his slingshot. The Terra he was fighting falls to the ground and doesn't get back up. Mike huffs behind the body and looks up at Chuck, sweaty and breathing hard. "Man, that guy was nuts!" Mike scoffs. Chuck wheezes to make up for his lack of a reply, an arm still pressed against his stomach while he catches his breath.

Three more Terras drop down behind the two. Mike turns and groans, wiping away the hair of his bangs sticking to his forehead. "I'm so sick of this fight!" 

_That's a first,_ Chuck thinks and raises his arm, firing his slingshot. A Terra goes down on one knee with a shout as the energy bolt hits him in the thigh. The plant arrow he was targeting at Mike shooting off and attacking the nearby trunk of a mushroom, and Mike makes quick work of the remaining two with his spark staff before pinning the downed Terra into submission with his boot. The last two Terras lunge off the branches for Mike, trying to wrangle away his spark staff and cut him with knives similar to the one the first Terra had. Chuck raises his slingshot, aiming carefully for one of the knives.

Out of nowhere, two fists come down on top of Chuck's head and send him kneeling hard on the ground with a high yelp. Chuck grabs at his head under his bangs, cringing over himself until his elbows hit the ground.

"Chuck!" Mike shouts. Chuck looks up with a pained squint to see Mike swing his staff at the two Terras, who jump back with the right mind to back the hell up from the double-edged electric chainsaw. Chuck starts to push himself off his knees when a boot comes crashing down against his head, shoving Chuck to his stomach with a broken cry.

An alarm blares behind the back of his eyelids. _Warning: head trauma detected._

Chuck tries to think past the headache—which has unhelpfully grown worse since the last time he was hit in the head—and newfound ringing in his ears. His slingshot unconsciously disassembles from around his wrist as everything around him grows muted. The foot comes off Chuck's head when the person decides he isn't going to get up this time, his long limbs splayed out on the ground. The sounds around Chuck are drowned out in the ringing, and he doesn't know how long he lays there until some of the sounds start to come back. This time, he _knows_ who's calling his name from the imaginary other room, but there is no strong hand pulling him back up.

Chuck wills his eyes to open and finally sees who tried to knock him out of the fight; the dark form that's so familiar after all of their encounters with Kaia. He can pinpoint the hulking brute anywhere by now.

It's Rall, and he's throwing a punch at Mike, whose back is turned to face the other Terras. 

Mike stumbles forward as the force crashes into the back of his head, and he whips around to swing his spark staff at the Terra second-in-command. Rall leaps back, avoiding the revving chainsaw that comes his way.

"TEXAASSS!" 

Out of the blue, Texas jumps down from the mushrooms above and kicks one of the two Terras Mike was facing right in the chest. They make a strangled noise and immediately back up, hand going to their chest as the breath is knocked from their lungs.

The smile Mike gives Texas is almost blinding, as usual. "I thought you were helping the others! Not that I'm complaining."

"They were fine. The action is better up here anyways!" Texas laughs, swinging a punch at the second Terra and giving Chuck a concerned glance. Texas sees that he's still awake and keeps fighting, but he looks like he's trying to keep the Terras away from Chuck. That's sweet of him.

Mike, on the other hand, is trying to jump to roundhouse kick Rall in the head, who keeps backing up with each move Mike throws at him, sneering under his gas mask. Chuck finally lets out a puff of air onto the dirt below his cheek, presses his palms to the ground, and pushes himself back to his knees. "Mikey—."

Rall lunges out and catches Mike's neck in his hand. Mike's eyes go round when he feels himself being raised off the ground and starts desperately clawing at Rall's forearm with his freehand. He raises his staff, hand white-knuckled around the metal, but Mike's eyes are already starting to flutter at the choke hold Rall has around his throat. Chuck isn't paying attention to whatever Texas might have shouted, pushing himself up to his knees as fast as he can with his legs feeling like jelly. 

The world goes in slow motion when Rall throws Mike off the edge of the cliff.

_"MIKEY!"_ Chuck lunges for the dropoff of the shroom cap, chest hitting the edge hard and hand shooting out to grab Mike's arm. His fingers graze the dark sleeve of Mike's jacket until finally managing to snatch at his wrist. 

And Mike's hand slips through his fingers.

Chuck caught the disbelief on Mike's face as they made eye contact for the last time, and Chuck hears his own scream down a tunnel when a sharp kick connects to his temple and knocks him out cold.

* * *

Chuck wakes up with a shout and goes straight to hyperventilating and staring wide eyed at the ceiling, rivers of hot tears streaming down his face with no promise of stopping any time soon. Chuck tries to turn and curl into a ball but every single muscle in his body tightens and holds him in place, the anxiety and fear and pain and _grief_ all stopping him. A loud, choked sob tears through his throat and he can't help but cry harder now. It isn't the first time his mind forced him to relive that moment; head hit four times too many so that it took weeks to stop getting dizzy and missing h—.

Chuck finally grits his teeth and lets out a frustrated scream for the sole purpose of finding something present to focus on. He fights back against the little flashbacks his mind serves him, still sobbing and shivering and breathing too hard, wishing his paralysis would go away. All he can do is listen to his own pathetic whimpering, grip the sheets even harder (not hard enough), and pray that everything would _just fucking stop._ Every fiber of his self-loathing—the "I could have grabbed him, I could have held on tighter" that he tells himself all alone in his room, finding every different version of that mission, every alternate reality of "what-if's"—all rips into him and strips him naked. A part of his mind wonders through all the crying if he's still wearing the jeans and shirt he fell asleep in, and the other more logical part wonders if he's having a heart attack. 

No, no, he reminds himself, but it doesn't really do anything about whatever is making his life so painful. _It's just a panic attack._

Finally, he manages to box breathe for a solid fifteen seconds straight and feels his muscles unwinding. He doesn't have to force out his relieved sigh, but immediately chokes on it with another ugly cry. He rolls onto his side and curls into the tightest ball he can, hiccuping and yanking hard on his bangs so he can feel like he's crying over physical pain rather than emotional. His broken sobs and groans rattle out and go on for what feels like forever, tears completely soaking the fabric below his cheek, and then the pain starts to drift away. The world immediately starts to chip away with it, melting and twisting in low-light of his room until all he can really focus on is the distant thrum of his mind, the sounds of an idle quiet, and the feeling of his blanket under him. Throat hoarse from all his screaming and crying, he takes his last few gasps and lets his eyes flutter shut. In the background, there's the faint creak of his door opening, but he's already slipping away too fast to think too hard on it.

Someone lays on the bed and scoots up flush against Chuck's back, wrapping their arm around him and pulling him closer. They slip a hand under Chuck's shirt, pressing their palm against his stomach, comfortable and gentle and so sweetly warm.

Everything in that moment completely relaxes.

_Mike._

Chuck smiles as he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the show begins...


	2. Caveat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great alt. title for this chapter: "PolyBurners: The Date"
> 
> I've already started work on chapter 3, but this is the last chapter before things get REALLY heavy. <3 Thank you for reading!

The garage Mutt is stowed away in is pretty dark today, mainly because Chuck would prefer to keep his eyes on low-light to avoid any headaches, which in turn means sleep, which also means more nightmares or the reoccurring long, deathly silence that comes with it. He would enjoy not going through that any time soon. A single spotlight over his shoulder is all he needs to get that extra bit of light to clearly see Mutt’s engine block even if it does cast hard black shadows onto some of the parts. (If he really wanted to, he could just tweak his visual feed, but fully-functional night vision isn’t something he’s been working on lately.) He finishes changing the coolant in Mutt’s engine and pulls up a screen to check off from his shrinking list of ‘things to work on’. Well, that’s not super good… He needs more things to do.

"HEY CHUCK!"

The voice is so loud it could have been yelled right in his ear and still sound the same. Chuck screams, jumping so hard his head slams into the bottom of Mutt's hood with a harsh bang. He yelps, pressing both his hands to his head. Yep, there’s that headache he was trying to avoid. "Ow! _Fucking_ —! Oh my god!"

Texas bounds into the garage with a big grin and Dutch right on his tail, mumbling all the while, "I told you you'd scare him..." Of course, Texas isn't listening to a word of it.

"Chuck, Stacy had a super awesome idea!" Texas exclaims, and then goes on to clarify, "Well, I mean, not like a Texas super awesome idea like Texas could do but, y'know, still pretty super awesome since it's Stacy—”

"Julie wants to take us all on a date in town tonight," says Dutch, cutting to the chase with an easygoing smile.

Chuck gives him a small look of 'thank you'—because heaven knows how long it would have taken for Texas to get to that point—and then processes what Dutch said. Abruptly, everything isn’t so cool now. Chuck pinches his lips together and furrows his brow, and a part of him regrets that it doesn’t go unnoticed because Dutch is frowning at him and Chuck knows that look.

Dutch turns to Texas and pats his shoulder, "Hey, can you go see when Julie's gonna be here?"

"Uh, can't you?" Texas asks, and Dutch levels a very firm look until Texas relents. "Okay, fine," he huffs and walks out of the garage, pulling up his comms on the way.

Chuck leans his butt back against Mutt's grill and frowns, crossing his arms as Dutch walks over to his side. He mirrors Chuck’s lean, palms on the open ledge of Mutt’s interior. "How long has it been since you and Julie talked?"

How did Chuck just _know_ he’d start it like that.

" _Hah_! Since she left for Deluxe," Chuck admits a touch bitterly. "So, three days.”

Dutch purses his lips and studies the side of Chuck’s face, like he can see through the curtain of blonde. It makes Chuck rapidly self conscious, cheeks flushing. “I know it's been hard," Dutch finally begins and scoots closer, pressing his side against Chuck and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He ignores the way Chuck tenses, "but we're all here for each other, and we're all going to get through this together.” He pauses—as if to let it sink in—and continues, leaning his head down to see past Chuck’s bangs. “It's good to talk, but we need to talk with one another, not at." _Or not at all._

Chuck hates it when Dutch is right, damn it. It always makes it harder to act like his distance is justified when someone tells him the easy solution to the problem, because duh, of course there’s another much easier way to go about things. There’s always a solution to dealing with emotions, but sometimes Chuck just wants to wallow in it for a while. In fact, that’s really what he’s been doing the past three months; that and making sure everything will be okay and already done before they bring Mikey home. And, sure, it’s been hard doing that by himself, but he’s been dealing with it and he’s been trying to do his best and there’s no harm in that!

 _‘Dealing with it’_ , a familiar voice echoes with a sneer in the back of his head. _Sure._

Dutch squeezes him a little closer and brings the side of Chuck’s head to his lips, just resting there. "Shh…it’s okay. I've got you."

Confusion distracts Chuck from his train of thought, until he feels a tickle run down his cheek. He raises a hand and wipes away the tear, a bit baffled but, in all honesty, not that surprised. Of course he’d have a breakdown now, when someone finally has the guts to talk to him like he wouldn’t fall over dead after one word. Better yet, it’s mild-mannered Dutch, who probably has the most emotional stability out of all of the Burners combined (minus ROTH and Jacob, who could both wipe the floor with them all).

“O-of fucking course it’s been hard,” Chuck grits out, voice high and choked, and Dutch opens his arms to offer Chuck a hug. He can’t help but reach in and take it, fingers clawing into the back of Dutch’s shirt. Wow, his throat didn’t hurt this much a few minutes ago. “I-i-it’s not...”

“Chuck, hey. Just breathe.” Dutch holds him tighter, a hand coming up to cradle the nape of Chuck’s neck. Chuck sinks right into it and lets out a meek little sob into Dutch’s collarbone. God, did he miss just being able to touch someone. Falling asleep during the movie marathon last week was awesome, but he still feels touch starved after weeks upon weeks of holing up in his room.

Chuck finally hiccups and stumbles on, lip quivering. “E-everyone’s been so tense and quiet even on missions and we can barely do that right anymore without _him_ and I don’t know what to do—!”

“Chuck, hey man,” Dutch pulls away to look him in the eye, and Chuck doesn’t mean to whimper when he can’t hide against Dutch’s chest but he still does. “You don’t have to do anything for us,” he says firmly, gently lifting Chuck’s chin to see his face. “We all need to take time to talk about this, and it’s not one person’s fault that we haven’t done it yet.”

“But it’s my fault—”

“No,” Dutch cuts him off almost immediately, shaking his head. “No, it’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault; it never has been.” Dutch sighs and tucks a side of Chuck’s bangs back behind his ear, “I’m not here to tell you what to do, but I think you should talk to her. Hey, no, don’t look away, it’s okay.” Chuck defies him by pressing his face back into Dutch’s shoulder and hugging him again. Dutch doesn’t complain and hugs him back. “It’s okay…”

The two stay there for a few minutes, quiet and warm. Chuck relaxes against Dutch, and by the time he hears a particular screech of tires, Dutch is the one to pat him on the back and ask if he was okay with letting go.

“I’m gonna do it,” Chuck whispers into Dutch’s shoulder, nodding. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Okay dude,” says Dutch, quiet at a whisper. Chuck steps away from the hug and lets out a sigh, rubbing his arm across his face. “Are you sure? You know you can take a breather before.”

“No, I need to apologize.” For being an asshole? Chuck huffs, and presses his cold hands to his flushed face, hoping his eyes aren’t too red. It’d be embarrassing if she automatically knew he’d been crying.

Dutch pats Chuck’s shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna go find Texas and make sure he picks out an outfit that isn't a jumpsuit.”

Chuck flashes Dutch half a smile before he walks out. He passes Julie at the garage door and shares a brief, gentle look with her on the way out. It’s been a running theory by Texas that Julie has telepathy, and “that’s why she just knows everything when Texas doesn’t say it!” Watching the exchange between her and Dutch, Chuck might be starting to believe it.

Then Julie is turning to Chuck and he feels his throat lock up, and she doesn’t look mad but she looks...resolved. A part of him is telling him to not say anything, to give up and say “oh it’s nothing” and get back into his room as fast as possible, but she’s already talking. “Hey, Chuck.”

Chuck rubs the back of his neck, abruptly not very sure what to do with his hands. “Hi...” The silence that follows is awkward, and Chuck knows he’s the one who has to fill it. He knows what to do, and like Dutch said, it’s all going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. “We, uh, need to talk.”

… And she’s still not saying anything, but she does look like she’s listening!

Okay, cool. Chuck’s totally got this.

“I’m sorry.” Well this is already a shit start. He should just give up, she probably hates him already. “I’m...not handling this—” _sucks to admit it_ — “and I shouldn’t take it out on you or, hah, I should’ve known I wasn’t handling it in the first place and then none of us would be in this mess. It was my fault for—” Wait, no, that’ll turn into an argument. Chuck cuts off what he was saying completely and slips his fingers below his bangs to pinch the bridge of his nose. His hands are sweaty. “I-I didn’t... _don’t_...mean to be a huge wreck. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Chuck pulls his hand away from his face and opens his eyes to see Julie walking up to him. Okay, he might start having a panic attack now, why is she walking over? Is she going to hit him? _Don’t be an idiot, she’d never hit you,_ his internal voice says, and then adds, _even though you'd totally deserve it._

Julie hugs him.

Chuck makes a strangled noise, hands hovering over her small back.

“It’s okay, Chuck,” says Julie, and gives him a comforting squeeze around his torso. “I never should have yelled at you either, and I’m sorry. You were the closest with Mike and it was insensitive of me to…” she trails off, eyes off to the side. Chuck knows that look—he’s caught himself making it in the mirror before. She lets go of him before he has the mind to hug her back and shakes her head, moving on, “It was insensitive of me to say anything like your feelings didn’t matter.” She puts a hand on his arm, frowning, and Chuck feels his heart flutter a little. Her eyes are beautiful, and he wants to run his fingers through her hair or stroke her cheek, because apparently his brain forgot how absolutely gorgeous she is. To be fair, it’s because Chuck’s been avoiding looking at anyone too closely for three months straight.

Chuck swears he had a glitch in his thought-to-voice programming, because he never would have said: “Th-this was supposed to be _my_ apology,” like an idiot, outloud, but he does anyways.

Julie just smiles, and Chuck knows she knows that was a stupid reply but somehow Julie has started finding it endearing, especially since none of the Burner boys know how to properly speak. (Dutch is the only exception, but even he has his moments.) “I know,” she says. Of course she knows, she’s Julie. “But I had some things to apologize for too.”

“O-oh.” Chuck starts crying again. “Okay.”

When Julie hugs him this time, he hunches down and hugs her back. Everything is okay right now and Chuck couldn’t have asked for anything more. He swallows, “I want to talk to you tonight...about him.”

He hears and feels Julie suck in a breath. “Okay,” she nods into his shirt. “We can. We will.” She relaxes when he starts to pet her hair, running his fingers through the silk strands. She starts to graze her nails across his back, and, even through his shirt, it feels really nice. The quiet that comes with it is content, and the lowlight Chuck set in the garage starts to make him sleepy. He’s still half aware that Mutt’s hood is still up and he still wants to let her idle and make sure everything is running nice, but he’s hugging his girlfriend and that can wait for a few more minutes.

Once the trickle of tears ends, Chuck finds the guts to start talking again. “So,” he begins, “a date?”

“Yea, into town,” smiles Julie. “Walk around some shops… Jacob told me he saw a new vintage store, so I thought we could check it out.”

“That sounds awesome.”

“I require you boys to behave.” Oh no, she’s going for a sex innuendo, Chuck is already blushing. “You wear nice clothes or none at all.”

“I-I’ll stick with nice clothes.”

Julie gives him a small pat on the back, Chuck gets the hint and lets go of her, albeit a little hesitant. “It’s almost six. Go get dressed and I’ll buy you guys gifts.”

Chuck flushes and instinctively raises a hand up to his face, “Julie, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Julie says, brushing aside his concerns. “Besides, you all deserve to be pampered after being stuck between home and Kanebots.”

Chuck stutters a few more times and falls silent, because she isn’t wrong. Between the hard work of Kanebots and locking in at home (there’s nothing better to do), they haven’t actually gotten out. “We haven’t healed,” he mumbles. Julie doesn’t stop smiling at him, not even a wince or a falter in her smile.

“That’s why we’re doing this.”

_(“That’s why we’re doing this,” Mike had said, standing out with the dark and neon cityscape of Motorcity as his backdrop, before he turned to them with his blinding, unapologetically hopeful smile, “to love each other.”)_

The words go unspoken between the two; they’d heard them before, back when the Genesis Pod nearly destroyed Motorcity and the gangs put aside their differences to help fight for what they loved.

It’s still hard to believe Genesis Day happened a year ago, because after that, this whole thing started and “this whole thing” feels like it’s gone on much longer. Mike had been the first one who said something (because he’s Mike Chilton and he can just say whatever he wants and everything will turn out okay in the end), and then Texas and Julie pitched in and agreed (very enthusiastically), and then Dutch (who’d apparently already talked to Tennie about it too, so that was solved beforehand). Chuck was the last one to say anything, since he was still wrapping his head around the fact that wow, all of his friends are in love with him and _that’s_ a crazy development (pinch him, he’s obviously dreaming), and the thought was...kind of overwhelming.

Of course, Mike was right. By the end of the week, the Burners knew it was okay to kiss...well, the Burners. Chuck still had to adjust to being able to look at them and think romantic things (and more but stop—) and let himself know that that’s okay now. But it was good. They were good.

Chuck smiles to himself and Julie must notice it because she tilts her head at him, squints suspiciously. To be fair, he’s staring right at her and she would have to be blind not to notice him. Julie is, indeed, not blind, so he’s caught right in the act and quick! Think of something to say!

“I’m gonna go get dressed now,” Chuck ducks his head and speeds out of the garage. A beat passes, and he’s walking right back in. “I need to run diagnostics.”

Julie chuckles and does the thing where she puts her hands behind her back and looks cute. “Be ready soon,” she says, and Chuck knows better than to take it as a suggestion.

For once, he ignores the distant throb in his chest. It’s going to be a good day.

* * *

For the first time in three months, they all look and feel really good.

Not “I’m about to walk into IKEA, get lost, but gonna look sleek as hell while doing it” good (in other words, not Skylark good), but still better than their normal alternative. Dutch decided to do eyeliner, so Texas immediately asked for Dutch to do his too, and Julie disappeared into the room along with them to join. By the time they’re done, Chuck is the only one without eyeliner and has started to wonder if he’s missing out, but then remembers the uncomfortable awareness of the makeup being right at the corner of his eyes and dismisses the thought entirely.

Texas walks out of Dutch’s room rearing, ready to leave, and flexing in a black tank top, ripped jeans, and combat boots. “At least it’s not a jumpsuit,” Chuck reasons under his breath, standing off to the side of the hallway. He goes entirely unnoticed by Texas, who’s more keen on striding around and yelling for Chuck rather than just looking directly to his left. It’ll probably be best to just stay quiet and wait until Texas notices he’s right there.

Chuck has to put a hand over his mouth to keep from gaping like a dead fish when Dutch walks out after Texas. He’s in a nice pastel button up, suspenders, and dress pants, and he must have put on lipstick because his lips look a lot lighter and shinier than they did when he was talking with Chuck in the garage. Oh—his lips are silver! Woah.

“Well, aren’t you handsome?” Julie strides out beside Dutch and smiles at Chuck; she’s wearing a baggy t-shirt tucked into cuffed jeans, and dark boots. Chuck looks blankly between her and Dutch, vaguely confused. She couldn’t possibly be talking to him, but she was staring right at him when she said it so maybe she is?

Dutch follows her gaze, eyes widening when they catch on Chuck like he’s just seen a new piece of art. Chuck raises a shy hand to his face, self conscious, and abruptly wonders if he has something on his face. “Woah,” is all Dutch says, and it does nothing to settle Chuck’s sudden nerves. “You look good.”

Yea, there’s no way they’re talking about Chuck. He must have someone standing behind him. He turns around, but all that’s there is his door at the end of the hall. His face is scarlet when he looks back at Dutch and Julie. “U-uh, I’m not—”

“Skinny! There you are!” Texas blasts from the doorway into the hall and practically jumps in front of Chuck, looking him up and down while Chuck squeaks in surprise. Texas stills and stands up straight to fix the cloth hood on the dull green jacket Chuck decided to wear. Alongside the jacket, he’s wearing one of Mike’s white t-shirts (which is still too big around the shoulders and not quite long enough) and skinny jeans. He didn’t bother changing his shoes.

“There,” Texas says with finality, obviously pleased with his adjustments on the hood, and leans in to peck Chuck’s cheek. “You’re welcome for Texas’s services.”

Chuck stammers, face a bright shade of red. “Th-thank you,” he finally manages when Texas steps back out of the hallway. Julie comes around to link her arm in Chuck’s and pulls him toward the end of the hallway, where Dutch still smiles at them. Chuck goes to say something but Dutch is leaning in and cupping a hand on his jaw, kissing Chuck slow and soft. He makes a startled noise, hesitates, and kisses back, eyes beginning to burn all the while. It’s been too long since he’s kissed them.

_I had my head up my ass_ , he thinks bitterly as a sharp pang renews the feeling of the rock settled between his lungs. Something about that feeling just feels wrong on top of the lovestruck butterflies-in-the-stomach flutter.

When Dutch pulls away, Chuck makes a goal to kiss every one of them tonight no matter when or where.

One down, two to go.

Julie walks them all down to the garage, arm still linked with Chuck’s. “You can ride with me,” she says to him as he pulls away to go toward Blonde Thunder, renewed and repainted in the corner, while Texas and Dutch go off to Stronghorn and Whiptail. He hasn’t driven in Thunder much, normally opting to take the passenger seat of Nine Lives during missions to attempt to do what he does best—there have been a few (blatantly awful) times—or even staying and working from the hideout when they acknowledge he...can’t leave his room. Chuck holds back the sigh of relief and walks around to the passenger side, pauses at the door. “It’s been a while,” he hears Julie say from the other side of Nine Lives, and feels her eyes on his face.

“You could say that again,” Chuck grunts and opens the door, slipping into the front seat, remembering once again that he no longer has Mutt or Blonde Thunder’s reinforced seat belt. “Oh. Right.”

Julie glances over at him when she starts up the car. “Do you need to cover your eyes?”

“No!” Chuck squawks and grips the single seatbelt strap a bit tighter. “Then it just feels like a roller coaster!”

“We can go a little slower since it’s your first time back,” Julie smiles, and her words honestly make Chuck feel a little bit better. As long as they aren’t going over two hundred miles per hour, he’ll be fine. Then he hears her ask, “Hey, what’s a roller coaster?”

* * *

The lights of Motorcity have a new kind of beauty to them as the Burners rumble at an easy 60 mph through the streets; people walking and chatting and trying to avoid getting run over by the out-and-about Mama’s Boys, who are going at much faster speed. Deluxe’s lights are already a soft pastel glow in the few open panels of Motorcity’s sky, barely making a difference but still pretty anyways. All of the shops down the next few blocks are lit in black and neon, and every single one of them has shopping potential with the excited chatter (of mainly Texas and Dutch) coming through the comms. At one point, Dutch spies a new clothing store and almost immediately starts talking louder than Texas, wondering and dreaming aloud about the stuff that might be in there and what they would look good in. The volume of his voice takes Chuck by surprise, but he figures that the unbridled enthusiasm is the product of not really getting out of the house other than to visit Tennie or fight bots. Beside Julie, Chuck’s been writing down a list of any shop the four of them mention with any level of awe. When they finally stop talking and park at an empty lot, the far side of where the collection of stores meets houses, Chuck looks through the list. It ranges from clothes to makeup to the random nick nack shops that Julie enjoys. Chuck jotted down a quaint coffee shop that he saw in a brief flash, and maybe it’s the hopeless romance of being with all of the Burners, but it’s on the list and he wants to ask them if they can go when he doesn’t have to shout to be heard over Texas’s climbing voice.

Julie parks Nine Lives, Whiptail and Stronghorn following close behind. Texas is the first barging out of his car, throwing his hands in the air in his usual Texas enthusiasm, throwing a punch in the air that nearly knocks Dutch to the ground as he’s slipping out of Whiptail.

“Alright,” Chuck shuts off his screens and steps out of the passenger door of Nine Lives. “I made a list of all of the shops you guys pointed out. We can decide as we go whether or not we want to go at each stop.”

“Sounds good to me,” says Dutch and swipes a hand to counter another one of Texas’s fists that comes too close, smiling all the while. By the snarling grin on Texas’s face, he takes the evasion as a challenge and the two begin to playfully nudge and block each other. Texas is the one to eventually stop, mumbling something about ruining outfits.

Julie smiles and starts walking, “Come on, boys. We’ve got at least twelve blocks to cover.”

“Detroit, here we come!” Texas shouts and leaps into the air, bounding after Julie with every ounce of his pent up energy. Dutch meets Chuck as he starts walking after them and snakes an arm around his waist, a glimmer in his eyes. Chuck feels his cheeks flush and he leans into Dutch’s side, trying to hide the goofy smile on his face.

They walk in and out of the shops, not quite loud but the people working there still give them the “oh, teenagers” grimace, and they’re all about eighteen, nineteen—Texas just turned twenty before the...Terra thing happened—so they’re not quite a part of the rambunctious group they’re thinking of but it’s kind of insulting. They’re _young adults_ , they can handle themselves, and they’re not _that_ loud...sans Texas. Chuck focuses on crossing out stores on his list as they go and, after the first glance from the door, doesn’t pay the people working behind the counters much mind.

Dutch finally pulls them into the first little clothes shop down the next block and immediately pulls Julie deeper into the abyss that is dark, earthy Motorcity clothes. Texas makes a little gasp and wanders off down another aisle, and Chuck is left standing awkward and gangly at the door.

“O...kay,” he mumbles to no one, and heads right. The shop is small enough—he can see Dutch’s afro if he stretches out and looks hard enough, so he’s not worried about losing everyone even if the clothes racks are unnecessarily, stupidly tall.

Apparently whoever made this place had a thing about mazes, because the racks keep turning and don’t seem to have a system. This place isn’t called the _Apparel of Labyrinth, Labyrinth of Apparel_ for nothing. (Odd name, though.)

Chuck slows down to gaze. He feels the fabrics and admires the designs on some of the clothes. At one point, he finds a fuzzy, yellow cat sweater and thinks Julie would look like it. Maybe he’ll show it to her if he manages to find them.

“Boo!” Texas says and wiggles his fingers against Chuck’s sides.

Chuck screams and then it turns into a screech because it tickles and he’s not being attacked by any strangers so it’s okay. He kind of wheezes after a second though, because as much as he’d like to enjoy being tickled (it’s been so long, it’s nice), Texas still scared the crap out of him and his nerves are about to pop out of his skin if he doesn’t stop right now and catch his breath. “T-Texas—”

It doesn’t take more than that. Texas catches the hint and instead lets his hands steady Chuck’s hips, still grinning up at him. “Haha, I got you good, Chuck!”

“Yyyea,” Chuck huffs, lets himself start to settle down. “Phew, y-yea.”

“Texas found you something awesome.”

“You—huh?” Chuck startles at the sudden shine of gold right by his eye, pushes Texas’s hand back to see what he almost slapped him in the face with.

Texas is holding a dangly golden earring; a turquoise stone in the middle of the small, rounded triangle pendant. _It’s pretty._

“Darn right it is!” Texas hoots (after Chuck apparently said that out loud—he didn’t even noticed), and settles back down, holding the earring out to him. “So, do you like it?”

“Yea,” Chuck admits, a bit breathlessly, because that would look _really good_ with his Lord Vanquisher outfit. “It’s beautiful.”

“Great,” Texas seems pleased by that response, and gives Chuck a meaningful look. “Can Texas kiss you?”

Chuck tries to smother the squeak he makes, ears turning red and voice going up a few octaves. “Y-Yes!”

Texas gets on his toes, and Chuck has to lean down even then to kiss him, and it’s not the usual face-cramming, rough kind of kiss Chuck remembers. It’s not sweet and gentle, either—neither of those words are in Texas’s vocabulary—but it’s nice and Texas even brings his hands up to dig into the front of Chuck’s jacket hood and that makes it even better because it’s _familiar_.

When Texas pulls away to catch his breath, he pulls it in with a gasp and says, “Took you long enough!”

Chuck makes a really offended noise but Texas is moving to run back to the register before he can retaliate—wherever the register may be—, his ears pink beside his hat.

“Wait, wait!” Chuck reaches over and pulls the cat sweater off of the rack, jogging to give it to Texas. “Get this too,” he says, beginning to fish in his pockets for his wallet.

“‘Kay!”

Chuck looks up from searching his pockets, Texas nowhere to be seen.

Too bad Chuck has seen it too much to be surprised and walks back to the door to let the Burners find him instead of the other way around. Unless, of course, it really was some kind of labyrinth and they weren’t able to find their way back. Dutch seemed to know where he was going though. _Maybe he’s been here before?_ Chuck thinks idly and stares out the window by the door to watch motorcitizens go about their day instead of freaking out, keeping his breathing deep and even.

“Hey Chuck,” says Julie, and leans up against Chuck’s side, joining him by the window.

“Hey Julie,” Chuck replies, and winces when it comes out raspy and near inaudible. If Julie notices the note of ‘unused voice’ in his reply, she doesn’t say anything. “I, uh,” he starts again, voice regaining itself, “I saw a coffee shop a few blocks away. Do you think we can go?”

“It’s _our_ day,” Julie wraps an arm around Chuck’s waist and pulls herself closer. “We can do whatever we want.”

“A coffee shop sounds good,” Dutch’s voice says behind them.

Chuck startles and looks back as Dutch and Texas emerge from the maze of clothes. “It does?”

“Kachaw,” Texas agrees at Dutch’s side and then begrudgingly grumbles. “Although nothin’ interesting happens at coffee shops because that’s where all the nerds go to do, like, nothing but nerd stuff.” Julie giggles, disconnects from Chuck, and steps over to flick Texas’s hat. They all grin when Texas makes a loud squawk when the hat nearly goes flying off his head. “Uncool!”

The next few stops are even more pleasant than the Labyrinth of Apparel. (Dutch later mentions that the store is called Apparel of Labyrinth, Labyrinth of Apparel because it’s owned by an old woman named Labyrinth, and it’s her “labyrinth of apparel.” Chuck thought it was cool, Texas thought it was nerdy.) In a little makeup store they admittedly _scurried_ into under the enthusiasm of a combined three of the group, Julie buys Dutch an eyeshadow palette with bright colors and a tropical theme and then buys Texas new eyeliner. Chuck stays back at the door for that stop, holding the bags from the Labyrinth, mainly because he knows that if he draws too much attention on himself, the night will likely end with rainbows of eyeshadow on his face.

Another few vaguely interesting stores later and a lot more crossed off Chuck’s list for being unworthy at second glance, the list only has two shops remaining. A gimmick shop Julie wants to look in, and the coffee shop.

They walk into Julie’s shop and Chuck doesn’t bother suppressing his loud “woooah.” Texas gasps and rushes off to look at a huge glass cabinet of crystals, most the size of a fist. Dutch’s mouth is hanging open, looking at everything from gemstones to wood and stone figures to coins and collections of broken dolls and antiques. Julie’s face breaks into a huge grin, “Wow.”

They split off at that point, except Julie and Chuck who decide to go look at the figures and batches of candles toward the middle of the shop. “Chuck, smell,” she holds a candle out for him. He leans forward to it and breathes in a deep smell that reminds him of the color burgundy. “It’s cranberry cinnamon,” Julie fills in for him as he leans back.

“It’s good. Do you want it?”

“I’m not sure. I’m between that and this,” she holds up another candle to him.

Chuck smells the candle and blinks, surprised by the light, lofty smell. His brow pinches together, trying to discern the smell. “What is that? It doesn’t smell like anything I’ve ever been around.”

Julie twists her wrist around to look at the label with a squint. “‘White sand’?”

“That’s a weird label,” Chuck mumbles and reaches out to gently take the candle from her. She lets him, and he raises the candle to his nose and continues trying to decide whether he likes it or not.

“Which one do you like?” Julie asks after giving him time to think.

“I like the first one,” Chuck replies quietly, “but it’s not bad. Whatever you want, I’ll pay for.”

Julie nods and watches Chuck put the white sand candle back on the shelf, saying, “But you, mister, aren’t going to be paying for anything. This is my date to you guys, so I’m going to spoil you all rotten.”

Chuck smiles but doesn’t reply, falling into a comfortable silence with her beside him. She examines a few more candles idly before stopping and settling to stand next to him. Neither look at each other, just quietly aware of each other’s presence.

And then Chuck wraps an arm around her, rubbing his thumb against the side of her arm, and she leans her head into his ribs. They stay there for a few more comfortable seconds until Chuck speaks up. “Uh, hey,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat before asking, “can I get a kiss?”

“Of course,” she says crisply and pulls away enough to get a hand in Chuck’s shirt and pull him down to kiss her. He makes a muffled, startled noise into her mouth, and kisses her back, eyes falling shut. She runs a hand through his hair when she pulls back, smiling fondly at him. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

Chuck blushes again, until he hears a choked noise and the frantic thump of feet.

Dutch comes half-running over, wide eyed. “Oh my god, _guys_ ,” he whispers in a hurry, like he might disturb the store, and holds out a—

“Wait, is that an old _polaroid camera_?!” Chuck gasps, leaning in to look.

Julie’s mouth falls open. “No way,” she says softly, stepping forward to meet Dutch and peer closely at the camera. “No way can this be real and working still.”

“It does,” a voice croaks.

All three of the Burners jump—Chuck shrieks—and whip around to look at the little old lady beside them, eyes nearly closed and face wrinkled in a gentle old lady smile. She must be four foot something to be that small. “I have film in the back,” she says, hands behind her hunched back.

“Um,” Julie starts, glancing between Dutch and Chuck, “we—”

“I’ll go get it for you,” the old lady nods and starts walking away, creaky and staggered like any wise old grandma Chuck’s ever seen in a movie.

The three look between each other, skeptical, until Julie shrugs and follows the lady toward the cash register at the back of the store. The old lady rounds the counter and heads through a door, leaving the Burners to stand at the counter and wait for her to come back. “Where’s Texas?” Julie eventually asks in a whisper. Dutch motions a thumb to the front of the store, and when Chuck stands on his tip toes, he can see Texas still hasn’t stopped gawking at the geodes in the cabinets.

Chuck rolls his eyes and smiles, and Julie seems to get the look because she smirks—until the lady walks in from the back room and holds out a little box. “You can have the camera.”

“What?” Julie asks, eyes wide in her surprise.

The lady nods to the film, shaking it for one of them to take. “It isn’t much use to my half blind ass,” she jokes, smiling a little wider and a little nicer. “Plus, a lovely couple like you all would put it to good use.”

Chuck squeaks, turning red up to his ears, and even Dutch’s cheeks get a subtle flush. Julie pushes some falling hair behind her ear, clears her throat—because she has the most dignity of all of them—, and takes the film with a respectful smile (and a cute smile at that, Chuck’s brain thinks). “Thank you.”

“And tell your big one to stop drooling over the merchandise,” adds the woman shrewdly.

It’s sudden enough to startle a giggle out of Julie, though she looks mostly amused when she nods. “Yes ma’am.”

“And, um,” says Chuck cautiously, taking the cinnamon cranberry candle from Julie and setting it soundlessly on the table, “we’d like to get this too…”

When they walk back to the front of the door, Julie snaps her fingers for Texas. She doesn’t catch his attention until she walks over and grabs his arm to tell him they’re leaving. “Okay, Julie,” he mumbles, eyes glued on her face with a bright kind of wonder, “but can we come back here again?” Julie smiles, promises him they’ll come back, and they’re off.

The Burners have to backtrack to the cars to get to the coffee shop, Chuck leading the way, listening to Texas drone on about the crystals in the shop until Dutch starts talking about the polaroid camera with Julie—the shots they could take, lighting, wondering about exposure and saturation. Chuck only barely hears Julie throw in a sex joke about “the pictures we could take”, but his ears still turn red and Texas notices and immediately starts teasing him until he’s squeaky and embarrassed. When Julie threatens Texas with photo blackmail, he stops with half a cautious challenge for her to “do her worst”.

They get to the coffee shop and a few people—reading, drinking coffee, or working—blink up at them and decide they aren’t worth a moment’s more notice and go on about their tasks. Texas snags them a three person couch and extra chair from an empty table and Julie goes up to get coffee.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t pay her back?” Chuck asks Dutch, murmuring into his ear to keep Julie from overhearing. “This has to be a lot.”

“Naw guys, Cassidy would totally rip your throats out if you tried to,” Texas says very seriously from the couch, legs crossed and lounging back like he owns it. “Y’know, with her wicked lady claws ‘n stuff.”

“Ah, yes,” Julie agrees as she comes walking back, leaving Chuck to wonder how much of that conversation she just heard. “My ‘wicked lady claws ‘n stuff’ are a force to be reckoned with.”

“A beast to avoid poking around,” Dutch nods sagely, and Chuck can see a grin threatening to split across his face, “of course.”

“A danger not to be trifled with,” Chuck supplies after, giving Julie a curt nod and standing with a respectful bow. “Pardon us, my lady. We need not mean to question you.”

“You misunderstand, my liege,” Julie presses a hand to her chest and curtsies to Chuck, “I find it charming. My dear beloveds merely fear for the state of my riches; that they should deplete without my knowledge.” When she stands, she gives them all a wink. “Good thing I have a vault just for you.”

Chuck feels a warmth blossom in his heart. It’s been a long time since he talked like that, and it’s even better to have them return the language. He sits down in the lonely chair with a breathy laugh, “You’re getting good at that,” he compliments, smiling up at her.

“Yes, well,” Julie sits down on the end of the couch close to Chuck and to the side of Dutch, “I was wondering when we’d be going back to Raymanthia.”

Chuck’s eyebrows go up, blinking dumbfounded at her, and slouches, hand on his chin and eyes hidden by his hair.

“Yea, Skinny,” Texas begins, leaning forward with a big grin, “when are we going to see the nerds again?”

Dutch gives Texas a sly smile, “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were excited to see ‘the nerds’.”

Texas immediately crosses his arms and starts grumbling something incoherent, giving Dutch the stink eye.

“I don’t know,” Chuck finally mumbles, low and disappointed and lost in thoughts of the video he watched a few days ago. He can feel Julie’s eyes on him and a part of his mind tries to decide if the look she’s giving him is pity or sympathy.

Whatever it was, a voice calls their names and every Burner head shoots up and looks to the counter. The poor barista visibly jumps at the attention, flushing, and pushes three cups and a small package forward. “U-uh, your orders. All decaf,” they say nervously and rush to get back behind the counter and away from their eyes. Julie stands up and brings back their decaf coffees (bless her for that, it’s almost nine at night) while tossing the package to Texas. He catches it with a hissed “yesss” and pulls out a cake pop, shoving it in his mouth. Julie hands the other boys their drinks and sits back in her spot, smiling with a bright red, iced drink in her hand that looks like it’d be so sweet it’d turn her face the same color as the liquid.

“It’s been a long time,” she adds, backtracking to the conversation, and glances over at Chuck as he takes a sip of his frappuccino. “Why don’t we go this Saturday?”

Chuck frowns and holds his coffee down in his lap, “Because… It— It’s just not how you remember it.”

Dutch furrows his brow over his hot mocha coffee. “How so?” he asks and tilts his head, expression falling.

“I’m not king anymore,” Chuck huffs, running his thumbs across the wet cup, smoothes water droplets on his fingers, and tries his best to smother another unhappy ache around the rock in his chest. “I don’t know anything that’s been going on…” Which isn’t entirely true plot-wise at least, since Ruby and Thurman have been updating him, but socially who knows what might have happened. The Oracle could have quit for all he knows!

… Okay, that’s a huge exaggeration even on his standards. As far as Chuck can tell, the Oracle figuratively (and maybe literally) lives on-site.

“Whether you’re king or not doesn’t matter,” says Julie, like it’s no big deal. (It totally is!) “We should give it a try.”

“Will the tiny girl be there?” Texas asks from the side, the stick of his cake pop poking out of his mouth.

Dutch rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll be there—she’s always there.”

“Ah, yes,” says Chuck knowingly and rubs the back of his neck, still hunched over, “Ruby.”

“Cool,” Texas nods with that determined pinch in his eyebrows. “She totally challenged Texas to a super awesome competition and Texas has to do it ‘cause Texas ain’t no coward.”

“Damn straight!” Julie cheers mildly, clearing off the foggy condensation from her cup with a content smile.

Chuck sighs, running a hand through his hair, and frowns all the while. “I dunno guys…”

“There isn’t anything you can lose by goin’,” Dutch shrugs, watching with a soft concern in his gentle eyes. “We’ll go with you too.”

 _Because I need a chaperone so bad_. Chuck tries his best not to scowl at the ground and refuses to meet any of their eyes.

“I want to go see what’s been up without us there,” Julie piques in, smirking. “They must have fallen apart without us.”

Texas laughs, immediately beaming. “Yea! They couldn’t last a day without—” he stands up, almost elbowing Dutch in the head, and throws a punch into the air with a sharp kick, Julie already moving to settle him back down with the amount of eyes that turn on them, “HWAAA, TEXAS!”

“Absolutely, big guy,” Julie manages to coax him back onto the couch. “They probably didn’t last an hour without you.”

Chuck keeps staring at the floor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Texas starts animatedly talking to Julie about all of the ways Raymanthia was  
doomed without the mighty Texas, and Dutch scoots into Julie’s seat so she can sit and indulge Texas’s fantastical stories. She causes half-hearted banter and imaginary anarchy with him, trying her best to keep his volume down to a reasonable level. The present part of Chuck appreciates it—less eyes on them—but he only barely notices, caught up in his own head.

It goes on for about half a minute more until Chuck startles when someone touches his hand, looking up to see Dutch leaning over the arm of the couch and frowning at Chuck. “Hey man, you okay?”

“Yea,” he lies.

Dutch raises a dubious brow at him.

Chuck sighs and smoothly loops his fingers into Dutch’s, looking away. “Okay, I’m just…not sure about seeing them.”

“The LARPers?” Dutch blinks at him, surprised. “You know they wouldn’t do anything too crazy, Chuck.”

Chuck grits his teeth, giving Dutch’s hand a squeeze. “I know, I just—” he sighs and sets his cold coffee between his thighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand while his other hand keeps a steady grip on Dutch’s. “I don’t want to see that empty space…”

Dutch squeezes Chuck’s hand at that and sighs out his nose. “I know. Man, do I know.” Chuck catches the pain that goes across Dutch’s face and feels his own heart wrench with it. He made Dutch make that face— “But, we can’t just quit because we feel hopeless,” he continues, meeting Chuck’s eyes with something similar to his usual, gentle smile. “‘Cause, hell, we would’ve quit a long time ago, before Kane and Kaia and all of them, if we kept feeding off of hopelessness.”

“Mike wouldn’t want that,” Chuck whispers, staring at Dutch from behind his bangs, and Dutch nods, smile getting a little bigger, a little more heartbroken.

“Exactly.”

The two sit in a thoughtful melancholy quiet until Julie stops whispering and making quiet jokes with Texas, who looks like he’s having a ball making up stories about the LARPers. She settles on sipping her fruity drink while Texas keeps chewing on the now-bare cake pop stick. They all fall into a companionable silence, thinking off into the distance but still present, Dutch’s thumb rubbing the back of Chuck’s knuckles comfortably. Chuck is still holding his hand when he wills himself to break the silence. “So you guys…really wanna go?”

“I think it’d be fun!” Julie says without skipping a beat, like she was waiting for him to ask.

Texas grins and raises his arms to start flexing, muscles rolling and bunching up in his arms and shoulders, “Hell yea, Skinny. They probably miss papa Texas after bein’ lost without him! Let's do it!”

Dutch gives Chuck’s hand a squeeze, and that tells him all he needs to know. Sighing in his defeat, Chuck relents. “Okay, who wants to go this weekend?”

It’s a no-brainer. The Burners collect themselves after an enthusiastic yes and Chuck watches Julie down the rest of her half-full drink in vague amazement before they leave. (Although she’d probably just point out the last time he ate Jacob’s okra mayonnaise muffins—or, frankly, swallowed them like a snake—and say he isn’t one to go gawking at her.) All of them collect the five lightweight bags from the shops so everyone is left with one bag—except Texas, who takes the last one and reminds all of them how amazing Texas is because he’s carrying two bags when all of them have one. (Dutch purposefully ensures he gets the bag with the camera instead of Texas.) When they get back out onto the street to trudge back to their cars, Dutch strides to the back of the pack with Chuck and takes his free hand, smiling when Chuck flashes him a giddy little self conscious, lovestruck grin. Julie and Texas pick up their conversation about the LARPers again, creating scenarios and random campaigns that never happened while Dutch throws in the occasional addition and Chuck corrects them. _“You mean hippogryph”_ and _“you’re talking about a warhammer”_ or _“no, elven folk don’t do that”_ and it’s nice and peaceful, and it stays that way even when they’ve separated into their respective vehicles. The ride home is silent. No one stops smiling.

* * *

“Is the cheesy popcorn gone?” Chuck asks in a whisper, looking down at Julie, who’s still awake and leaning against him at the end of the couch.

When they had gotten home, the Burners immediately set off to watch movies and cuddle and eat a very late dinner (which entirely consisted of movie snacks). The credits rolling on the dark screen was the third film they’d played that night and only Chuck and Julie were awake to see the end. Texas is snoring loudly on the other side of the couch and Dutch is conked out with him, his upper half laying on Texas’s lap and a pillow while his feet are still on the ground. Chuck would think it’d be uncomfortable, but Dutch clearly has no problem with it, eyes closed and breathing deep and even.

Chuck feels Julie raise her head from his arm, “Yea. Are you tired?”

“Not really,” Chuck admits. The steady throb in his chest isn’t as bad as before, but it’s still enough to keep him from sleep.

Julie pushes herself to sit up, slow and not without a small groan as she twists to get herself sitting comfortably in the small space between Chuck and the arm of the couch. When she manages to settle back down, she has her chin propped in her hand, watching him with a steady gaze. Chuck feels the ache in his chest throb a little harder, even before she asks, “Do you want to talk about it now?”

It’s so awful when Julie can read his mind. Who gave her this ability—Chuck wonders if it’s from one of her parents—because no one woman should hold this much power.

Chuck looks at the ground, knotting his hands in his lap and mouth pinching closed, feels his bottom teeth grind with his top and knows his underbite is even more apparent than usual. “Yes…”

Julie adjusts how she’s sitting again and doesn’t say anything more for a long time. Chuck doesn’t either, mainly because he has no idea where to start, and it’s nice enough that Julie is even talking to him after shutting down on her for months on end. It looms over him like a rain cloud (or so he’s heard the expression—he’s never seen a rain cloud before) that never goes away. _You’re going to buckle under the pressure_ , the logical voice in his head hisses, familiar and what does that voice remind him of? He quietly reminds himself that the “logic” of the voice is starting to become less and less reasonable and more and more antagonistic each day. Oh, he remembers who it reminds him of: Red. He goes to open his mouth—

“I don’t know how you feel,” says Julie, staring off at the space below the tv. “I don’t think I ever could try to, even if I wanted to… But, he was our friend too.” She turns her head and looks him dead in the eye. Her face makes Chuck’s heart stutter, a heavy mixture of things he’s been struggling to cope with: exhausted, dark rims that Chuck never noticed before now set deep under her sockets; resolved, by the steady expression she’s holding on him; loving, the soft look in that surprisingly warm gaze; and pained, a faint glaze over a faint pink color rimming her tired eyes. “You’re my teammate,” she says, and reaches out to grab his hand from his lap, a gentle squeeze. “You’re my friend, Chuck, just as much as he was.”

Chuck’s eyes are beginning to burn and his voice cracks. “I just don’t know what to do,” and he can feel his mouth twisting into an ugly frown. “I want to stop—... I hate that no one’s talking about it. L-like we can’t hear it or something,” he doesn’t bother hiding the bitter edge in his voice. “I don’t even think _Kane_ knows and he keeps sending bots and—”

Julie reaches over and pulls him into a rough hug that he immediately latches into, hands gripping the back of her shirt tighter than is probably comfortable, but god does he need this right now. Tears have already started soaking the fabric on her shoulder, and Chuck feels his heart twist in his chest.

“I-I don’t even feel like getting out of bed anymore… And I want to change it because it _hurts_ , Julie,” Chuck whimpers hoarsely, terribly muffled and feeling the hot breath he’s heaving against her collarbone. The sob that comes after it is entirely against his will. He feels awful, for one: this is the second time she’s had to put up with him crying today, and he’s cried way more than this on top of it anyways. She’s probably sick of it by now and here he is still sobbing like a baby. The least he can do is try to stay quiet for Dutch and Texas.

“You need to talk to us,” says Julie, and she’s petting the back of his head and he simply _melts_ into it—it’s just like how Mike used to comfort him. “None of us were able to cope alone, we needed each other, and we need you, Chuck.” The hand in his hair clenches into a fist, but it doesn’t hurt and her small body tenses in their hug. “ _I_ need you, Chuck.”

That does something funny to him. _Her_ need _him_? After all of the trouble and the tension he’s caused? After barely functioning during missions while holding out Kane’s bots from Motorcity or after screaming from the passenger seat of Nine Lives? After refusing to give up even though he’s never coming back and Chuck could have done something—could have saved _Mike_.

Chuck is intensely, bitterly aware of the relief he feels when he realizes it. _She doesn’t blame me for not being fast enough._ The thought makes him sicker than when he thought the Burners had decided he was to blame and kept him around for pity’s sake but it feels so good all at once. Do the others still like him?

_Why would they still date you then, dumbass?_

Chuck shoves an imaginary sock into the imaginary voice’s—imaginary Red’s—mouth and clings a little tighter.

Julie holds him through dull shudders and muffled, broken whimpers that are thankfully smothered into her shirt. Texas and Dutch don’t so much as twitch and it makes Chuck feel infinitely better. He finally breaks their hug, rubbing the heel of his palm and wrist up his face, getting rid of the wetness there.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, and she just shakes her head and pulls his hands away from trying to cover his face, brushing back his bangs from his eyes so she can look at him. Exposed, he can’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

“Chuck,” she says. He doesn’t look up. “Chuck, hey.” He gives in, blue eyes flickering to her gaze, shy and unwanted. “I am here,” she continues on, brow pinched and lips tight, firm, and he knows she’s telling the truth. “I want to know what’s going on. I want to know how you feel and what you’re thinking. _I_ want to be one of the people who help you get out of bed in the morning.”

“Why would you want that?” Chuck whispers, and doesn’t even wince at his voice crack in the middle, staring at her.

“Because, no matter what you think,” she says, giving him the hardest look he’s seen from her since their argument, “it wasn’t. Your. Fault.”

Chuck’s vision blurs again and he closes his eyes, frown quivering and face twitching as he tries to keep it from twisting. He feels a warm hand against his cheek stroke away a new roll of hot tears. “Okay…”

“Okay,” Julie echoes and leans forward, resting her temple against his shoulder as he lays his cheek on her head. “Okay…”

Chuck falls asleep.

* * *

Pain.

A burn in his throat; it feels like he swallowed razors.

He’s half blind, world spinning and blurring and it’s so hard to focus. (Why can’t he focus? There must be something wrong with his visual. A virus?)

An orange glow lights his bleary surroundings up from below. It’s all a dark shade of burgundy around him, meshed with neon green and white and more orange, but not the kind of eye-straining orange below him. There’s a tingling, burning sensation up the lower half of his legs but when he looks down to see if he’s hurt, all he sees is a thick, glowing river up to where it burns. The source of the orange light. He has to squint to look at it. It does nothing to help his vision.

It looks dangerous. (Why is he wading through it again?)

The unit is looking for something.

There’s a splash of water (off to his left—no, his right—his— _error_ —). The splash sounds a lot more like a tidal wave. He hears another sound, like if someone tried to gasp and scream at the same time and choked on the noise. Heaving breaths, gasps for air. Squealing. Wheezing.

He whirls around, squinting, straining to see the source of the noise. (Why can’t he _focus_?) It could be dangerous. His systems are failing ( _reboot_ )—heart rate rising, blood pressure spiking, short intake of breath. (There’s a twitch in his hand. _Reboot._ )

Then he sees what made the splash: a black form in the water— _waste_ —too, just like him. It’s human if he focuses hard enough. Then he notices its arms are too long, twisting, curling.

The arms strike out at him like a viney snake, wrapping around his throat, squeezing—he wrenches out a cry, choking and gurgling and drooling and it feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his head. The person is in front of him now, head down, face hidden in a mop of shaggy brown hair. (The unit is _scared_ —)

Then the familiar, round eyes look up at him, and Chuck remembers why his throat burns.

“Mi—”

He hears the vicious snap of his neck.

( _Reboot._ )

* * *

Julie wakes up to the loud roar of an engine and sits up quick, looking down at the empty, still-warm spot next to her on the couch. _Chuck_ , she thinks, heart pounding in her throat, and scrambles up. She hardly gets to the edge of the kitchen to see Blonde Thunder whirling toward the storm doors with a screech of tires. “Chuck!” The car disappears out of Mutt Dogs.

Julie’s hands are going faster than her brain, already pulling up her comms. She barely even touches Chuck’s contact before her call is declined. She tries aga—’DECLINED’ it says in big red letters.

Every alarm in her body goes off and she’s running back to the living room, casting a short glance at her clock. Three am. Dutch is already sitting up and looking at her, confused and sleepy, eyes still blinking open—the sound must have woke him up. She doesn’t bother to throw in niceties. “Get up! Chuck just left in Thunder!”

Texas groans awake at the yell and Dutch is already on his feet, a line creasing his brow, asking, “What happened?”

“Wh’ ‘r we gittin’ up for,” Texas growls, pulling a couch pillow over his head. “Lil’ man c’n go whur’ he wan’...”

“We talked about Mike last night,” Julie hisses, and that gets Texas’s attention. He raises his head, scowling with the wide-eyed intensity he only gets when he knows something’s wrong, and stands up.

“He’s not pickin’ up!” Dutch hisses as his comm flashes ‘DECLINED’ at him for the third time.

Julie is rushing out of the living room with Texas and Dutch hot on her heels when Jacob comes walking out from the door beside the kitchen, brow pinched. “What’s goin’ on? I heard someone leave.”

“It was Chuck,” says Julie, and Jacob’s eyes widen with the tense, worried expression she saw him make when they came home those few days before Genesis Day, one member missing.

“Call me when you get ‘im. You kids stay safe,” he says firmly, voice gravelly, and no one replies but everyone’s heart races a little faster; an unspoken promise.

They jump off the edge of the hideout down to the garages below and Julie sprints to Nine Lives, practically throwing herself inside. All three of the Burner cars roar awake, and the whole hideout shivers with it.


End file.
